


charlie work

by nobodysusername



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Charlie Kelly: the Romance King, Charlie's POV, M/M, aggressively not angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodysusername/pseuds/nobodysusername
Summary: Mac finally asks, “…Honeymoon period?”“Yeah, you know,” Charlie says, waving his hands vaguely as they head into the darkness outside. “It’s the beginning part of dating where the people actually like each other, and they’re around each other all the time.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone, i'm in the process of binging iasip, pls help, sos. also pls feel free to comment/critique thoughts!

**4:00 AM. On a Wednesday.**

Charlie hears words, and someone is jabbing his shoulder with a distinct flavor of aggression.

“Mac,” he says into his sleeve because he’s not feeling the whole sitting up thing. “Mac, dude. Stop.”

Mac sighs dramatically. “I can’t, Charlie. Because you gotta clear out so we can lock up. You know the drill.”

“The fuck, man?” Charlie scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and turns, still slumping over the counter, to look at Mac. “I can close up. Just go home.”

“Come on, bitch, we all know that you’ve been sleeping here again. Frank said so.”

“That fucking ra—no, listen, I swear I haven’t. Why would I sleep here when there’s a couch at home?”

“Uh, _duh_ , there’s a shit-ton of booze here.” Mac’s rolling his eyes and while he’s absolutely correct, Charlie resents the self-certain tone.

“Whatever.” He begrudgingly hops off the bar stool and tugs the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his forearms. “Since when does Dennis leave without you?”

Mac looks at him weirdly. “I dunno, since forever?”

“Nah, man,” Charlie denies, shaking his head. “You haven’t gone home separately in months, I would know. Is the honeymoon period really over? That’s lame.”

They’ve reached the door, which Charlie opens as he stifles a yawn. He belatedly notices Mac’s stunned silence. “Uh, hello? Dude?”

Mac’s face does a lot of things at once, like it can’t decide what it’s trying to do exactly, and Mac finally asks, “…Honeymoon period?”

“Yeah, you know,” Charlie says, waving his hands vaguely as they head into the darkness outside. He’s trying to pantomime to hide his fear that he botched the term—he can’t be certain, but he’s pretty sure he heard Dennis explain it to Dee once in high school, and that _is_ what it’s called, right? “It’s the beginning part of dating where the people actually like each other, and they’re around each other all the time.”

It’s too dark to see what Mac’s face is doing now, but the sound of his teeth clicking together suggests that maybe Charlie was wrong about the honeymoon period in some capacity.

Eventually, Mac manages, “Why do you think we’re dating?”

And, uh, _wow_. Because Charlie knows that Dennis—and sometimes Mac too—thinks Charlie’s an idiot, and sure he struggles with literacy or whatever (who doesn’t?), but if either of them thinks he’s stupid enough not to know his two best friends are in homo love? That hurts.

“Because it’s fucking obvious?” he says, voice shrill and exasperated. “You can’t seriously think I’m out of the loop—I’ve known you forever, man!”

“Jesus, Charlie! Calm down! I know you know me!” Mac takes a breath. “It’s just—Den and I aren’t dating.”

And that’s not what Charlie was expecting to hear at all. A gratuitous apology for underestimating him, sure. But outright bullshit? “You—what? Is that a fucking _joke_?”

“No, it’s not a joke.”

They’re just loitering in the street now, Charlie squinting to make out the outline of Mac against the hazy city light. Mac continues, “I fucking wish it was. Shit, Charlie, sometimes I really feel like we _are_ a couple, right? But it’s totally a lie.”

“Well, Christ, dude. You gotta do something about it then.” Charlie wants to come out and say _tell him, you fuck_ , but it took Mac like forty years just to be gay so if the responsibility is in Mac’s hands, forget it.

Even when it’s this dim outside, Charlie can see—no, he can _feel_ Mac’s unhappiness. It’s like a blanket of melancholy descending upon them both and making Charlie seriously uncomfortably.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mac answers eventually. “Dennis knows what he wants. If he wants me, he’ll have me.”

Jesus fuck, Charlie thinks. Because clearly he has overestimated the respective wits of both of his closest allies. This is why Frank is top notch, mostly.

“Listen, dude,” Charlie says. “First of all, let’s keep fucking moving, it’s cold as shit. Second, Dennis knows what he wants as much as the rest of us. Look at him! He wanted to be, like, a cat doctor and he owns a fucking bar!” He nudges Mac with his shoulder. “Just, I don’t know, at least start a conversation about how gay you both are.”

“I don’t know, Charlie. I mean, your idea of romance is stalking someone for years.” Mac’s tone is dubious, which, rude.

“Whatever, that’s _me_. Figure out what works for _you_ , is all I’m saying, but then you gotta actually _do_ it.”

Mac doesn’t answer, so they walk in silence for a while. Charlie’s a little peeved that his night’s been hijacked and turned into a Romantic Advice Hour, but if it means Mac will stop oozing sad at random intervals (which Charlie’s been wondering about, but had mistakenly assumed was not connected to Dennis), then it’s worth missing the free bottomless booze.

**4:00 PM. On a Friday.**

Charlie’s cellphone is screaming from somewhere near his hip. Forced violently awake by the sound, he fumbles for it, fingers digging between the cushions. Finally, he finds it and pulls it free from the debris that insulates the couch.

He flips it open and says through a yawn, “What the fuck?”

“Charlie, thank God, holy shit, you have to help me.” It’s Dennis’ voice coming through the line, tinny and manic. Christ’s sake, what time is it? “It’s like four, Charlie, were you fucking sleeping?” Dennis’ voice is still shrilly pummeling Charlie’s ear.

“Okay,” he mumbles into the phone, sitting up. “What’s your problem, man?” He listens to Dennis’ loud, shallow breathing for a few beats, presumably while Dennis collects his wits or something, and tries to will the sleep out of his bones.

“It’s—God, this is so embarrassing.” Dennis sounds angry at himself, which is… not ideal. When that happens, he gets kind of depressing and scary to be around, so Charlie starts paying real attention to what he’s saying. Dennis continues, “I think I’m catching a feeling.”

“You what?” Charlie squints at that, trying to decode what the fuck Dennis means by that.

“Feelings, Charlie! People have them sometimes—you know? Well, I’m on the brink of fucking having one! Help me!” Dennis’ voice reaches a volume of such potency that Charlie holds the phone away from his ear for a moment.

“Uh, yeah, man,” Charlie answers after a beat. “So you’re having a feeling. That’s normal, I think. What, exactly, do you need from me?”

“Jesus, I don’t know.” Dennis huffs.

“Then talk to Dee about it! She’s a girl!”

“Deandra can’t distinguish feelings from teeth, Charlie. Listen, I know everyone thinks you know fuck-all about romance just because of how you are with that waitress but I’ve seen you put on the moves before and I know you know more shit than you let on.”

Charlie rolls his eyes even though the flattery is sublime. “So you’re like, in love with someone?”

“I didn’t say that!” Jesus, Dennis needs to stop screaming.

“Anyways, you want me to teach you how to do romance? Is that it?” Finally, someone is recognizing Charlie’s untapped supply of wisdom.

“I don’t know! I just—I need help!”

That tells Charlie exactly nothing. “Okay, uh, who are you catching a feeling from, then?”

“You don’t need to know that,” Dennis snaps.

“What the fuck! How am I supposed to help you when you won’t tell me shit?” Charlie starts searching for his paints, agitated.

“Tell me how to get rid of it!”

“‘Rid of it?’ What, your _feeling_?”

“Yes!”

Charlie can feel his eyes trying to roll right out of his skull like bowling balls. “That’s not how it fucking works! You don’t fight it, you feed it!” He calms down after he finds a can of spray paint and one of his paper bags. After spraying and taking a whiff, he continues, “Be really fucking nice to the person who gave you your feelings or whatever. Take them out—”

“I already do that,” Dennis mutters.

“—fucking whatever, man—take them out, and pay for shit for them, and, you know. Like that.”

He feels pretty proud of his answer, but Dennis sounds unconvinced: “Is that it?”

“Uh, yeah. Oh, and step three—this is crucial—you gotta tell them about the feelings.”

He hears a furious sigh and then the screen blinks: Dennis hung up.

“Fucking whatever, man,” Charlie says to no one, bending to huff more paint.

 **4:00 AM. On a Thursday**.

Charlie wakes up to the sound of lips smacking, which, _gross_. He doesn’t open his eyes at first, hoping the sound will stop and Frank will kick the stripper out or something, but when he remembers that he’s at the bar and not home, his curiosity gets the best of him. He opens his eyes and sits up, looking for the source.

His gaze lands on the two people behind the bar, and Charlie immediately wishes he could remove his eyes.

It’s Mac and Dennis. Dennis appears to have latched onto Mac’s neck with his teeth, and Mac is panting loudly, making all sorts of whiny sex noises, and they’re grinding and doing _all_ that shit.

“What the fuck!” Charlie shrieks, leaping back. The urgency with which he does so knocks over a barstool.

Dennis quits …doing what he was doing and turns to look at Charlie, wiping his mouth. He grins like the Devil and Charlie suspects this is some sort of punishment. “Hey, Charlie,” he says.

Mac exhales, panting, “We told you not to sleep at the bar, bitch.”

Charlie’s ready to fucking die, now.


End file.
